Isolated Incident
by APE STORM PRESS
Summary: When an alien artifact falls from the sky and lands in a small town suddenly everything that seemed important is pointless and nothing will ever be the same.
1. PART 01

Issue 01  
  
"No boners. No boners. No boners."  
  
This is me. That is, Darien. And I am about to give an oral presentation. I only hope my marine stands at ease. Usually I can control it, but a sweet looking skirt with 'junk in the trunk' is slipping out of her low riders. The fabric is blue but fades to black as it separates the meaty flesh of her backside. God I love being a pervert.  
  
"Darien Scott, your presentation please?" asks Mrs. Morrison, my General Culture teacher. It's a new course that goes over influences in art, music, film, and television.  
  
"Ahem," I say, jokingly clearing my throat as I stand up before the class, soldier luckily standing down. "Although I am a huge fan of Science Fiction and Star Wars in particular, I am forced to argue how it has negatively influenced society. I begin my argument with sequels. Never has there been a better trilogy than Star Wars, yet movies continue to spawn series' of thoughtless dribble. Argument 2: prequels. Stay away from them. Only Red Dragon was a decent prequel. Final Argument: Endings. With the spectacular truth at the end of Empire Strikes Back, so has ended the great hero – villain relationship. Tons of movies have tried using the father – son villainy, although I can't remember any. Oh well. What did you expect from trying to get a nerd to insult Star Wars?"  
  
Having ended my speech, I return to my seat, but not before the bell rings for my next class. To the gymnasium I walk, humming 'Singing in the Rain.' I see the mass of screaming normal kids chasing the basketball trying desperately to sink the next basket.  
  
"How utterly mundane," I think to myself.  
  
"Participating today, Darien?" asks my gym teacher Mr. Burrows.  
  
"Nah," I say, slapping my gut. "I plead the fat."  
  
He gives a snicker and marks down my zero for the day. I take a seat on the bleachers. I grab my copy of 'War of the Worlds' out of my bag and start reading. Although I don't really read. I take in the about three words and look up and the students. Particularly the female students. Particularly Lizzie Piccolo.  
  
Lizzie Piccolo reminds me of Marilyn Monroe, but not in the ditzy character way. I think of an epic beauty that defines the ages and a talented young woman with range and power. I have an intellectual crush on her.  
  
Michelle Stewart was, is, will be the first girl I truly loved. She was just so damned sweet and she had all of these incredible little perks about her that just drove me wild; She had this beautiful hair that bounced when she walked, and she wore these adorable shoes and, she would pout her lips with her finger on her chin while we played chess. I lost every game. Anyway, I loved her. It didn't work out. I don't really know why. She won't tell me.  
  
I can't concentrate so I toss my book back into my bag and take out a notebook. It isn't my notebook though. When Michelle and I were dating she used my locker and she forgot it there. Lo and behold four months after we break up, I discover it. I haven't looked at it. I want to really frigging badly. It's a series of notes between her and Lizzie. I'm sure it talks all about me.  
  
Damn my conscience! Damn problems of morality! I don't even open it. I toss it in the book bag and zip it up. I sit here thinking depressing thoughts to myself.  
  
Enough! I can hear the rain picking up and crashing onto the gym roof, like some bees constantly humming in their hive. The news said there was something odd about the weather lately and the meteorologists were puzzled. Big shocker.  
  
"Phew!" says Lizzie, walking up to me changed out of her gym clothes. Had the period already ended? "That was intense."  
  
"What was?" I ask.  
  
"Volleyball."  
  
"Volleyball is intense?" I ask.  
  
"Volleyball is always intense. Just like anal sex," she says as if it is the most normal statement in the world.  
  
The comment couldn't have been more random than us actually having anal sex right now; it is completely out of nowhere. I don't really know quite how hard I laugh but my jaw begins to hurt.  
  
"Wow," I say, regaining my vocabulary. "I needed that so desperately." Something like that really clears the head and for some reason puts things into perspective. "Here," I say unzipping my bookbag. "I found this. It's yours." I hand over the notebook. "I haven't read it but if I keep it any longer I'll probably give in."  
  
"Oh. Thanks," she says, tucking it into her bookbag. "So that's where that went."  
  
And the bell rings. Four strokes of that ominous gong. For whom the bell tolls? Me? For us all? I have a terrible feeling in the hollow of my gut; maybe it's just an ulcer. Hmmm . . . impending doom or abdominal agony? I hope it's not an ulcer.  
  
"What's that noise?" I say out loud to myself. It's a high-pitched sound, like a plane passing by overhead but it sounds like something smaller. The light from outside breaks, as if something, is passing through it. An oddly shaped shadow casts over the American Flag that is hanging on the gymnasium wall. It gets smaller and smaller like whatever the shadow is of is getting closer. I'm getting this terrible feeling over my body. "This is it," I tell myself. "The terrorists have done it."  
  
I guess I should be sad about not finding true love and being a virgin and all but I don't care. Girlfriends and crushes and homework all of the things that I thought were so important really aren't. I'm content with my family; they all knew I loved them. It's a strange thing to die. Everyone around me is panicking the principal is on the loud speaker telling us to remain calm. I always thought I'd be praying to God but I have no desire to. My life should speak for itself.  
  
The sound is deafening now, the sound barrier continues to be broken. I can feel the impact and I can hear the muffled sounds of confusion. The dust is upon us. Darkness engulfs . . . 


	2. INTERLUDE

CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT: TOP SECRET TRANSCRIPTS OF OVAL OFFICE SECURITY CAM DATED 04-07-2004  
  
AGENT: "Mr. President, we have a problem. NASA is on the phone, an unidentified projectile crashed on the East Coast."  
  
PRESIDENT: "What is it?"  
  
AGENT: "It's unidentified sir. It has symbols on it sir, so we know it was sent here by sentient beings."  
  
PRESIDENT: "Martians?"  
  
AGENT: "I don't think so sir."  
  
PRESIDENT: "What's it made of?"  
  
AGENT: "We aren't sure sir.  
  
PRESIDENT: "Are you sure it's not Martians? I've seen the MI5 reports from Tony Blair, I know they exist."  
  
British Security Service  
  
AGENT: "Very well sir."  
  
PRESIDENT: "Give it to me straight. What's the damage?"  
  
AGENT: "The first reports are saying heavy casualties and property damage."  
  
PRESIDENT: "Damn. Where'd this happen? You said East Coast. Is it close?"  
  
AGENT: "New Jersey sir. A small town outside of Atlantic City called Point Cove."  
  
PRESIDENT: "Goddamn. Me and Jeb were gonna hit the casinos this weekend."  
  
AGENT: "What is your order sir?"  
  
PRESIDENT: "sighs I don't know. Can we get the M.I.B.?"  
  
(M)en (I)n (B)lack  
  
AGENT: "I'll see what can be done sir." 


	3. PART 03

Part 03  
  
Now, I'm not exactly a good-looking guy but the smelly stoner that sat in front of me during Homeroom was one ugly motherfucker. He was about 7 feet tall and he has these really small eyes set deep in his head, he could have been deformed but who knows. He had this huge back, like The Hunchback, and it looked like his neck started in his chest and not on his shoulders. His skin had this light green tint like Gatorade and his teeth were yellow like piss.  
  
I'd come in late most days and throw my books down, toss the teacher a heaping wad of a bullshit disguised as an apology and sit down. Like clockwork, exactly 2.756 seconds after I'd sit down I'd hear:  
  
"Darien! How's it going dawg?" (Notice dawg is spelled the retarded way)  
  
Marijuana/drunk breath smacks me like a bitch and suddenly I am fully awake and wanting to leave.  
  
"Hey Buster," I say like the charming little bastard that I am. "How was your weekend?"  
  
"Oh man you would not believe how much I smoked the other day!" he would say, always a bit too loud even when he wanted it to be a secret.  
  
"Too much?" I answered.  
  
He would always have this confused look on his face and then he would suddenly get it and laugh like a 4 year old with Down's syndrome. Oh how I hated him.  
  
"Man I got the perfect girl for you," he said once during his fourth freshman year. "She hot as hell. She needs a guy for a double date."  
  
"Are you into her?" I asked.  
  
"No man it's not like that," he said.  
  
"No seriously, do you hang out with her and like her?" I asked.  
  
"Well yeah. I guess man," he said.  
  
"Not interested."  
  
"Why not man she's hot as hell, she's got short black hair and this tiny little body. Come on man you'd love her," he argued.  
  
"What's wrong with her?" I asked.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"If you like her there has got to be something wrong with her," I said in my 'Doctor Darien' tone. "Is she crazy?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Has she been in any institutions?"  
  
"Well . . . yeah."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Slashing her wrists."  
  
"Crazy. Probably molested and doped up," I said. "Am I right?"  
  
"Not about being molested but . . ."  
  
"She's a druggie. Not interested." I said smiling, feeling good about averting that disaster.  
  
"Whatever dude," he said.  
  
I wake up; the dust still not settled from the impact, the American flag that once hung on the gymnasium wall now covers me. I get up slowly against a pain in my back. What a terrible dream to have at a time like this. Reliving stoner trauma. Now I've got goose bumps. End of the world and I'm still worried about girls. Jesus.  
  
I can see the sky through a hole in the ceiling. It's gray. Not totally though, there is still light and all but there's haze blocking out direct sunlight.  
  
"Owww," I say out loud, noticing others starting to stir. "Oh shit," I say, noticing a broken beam that had collapsed on some students. I know a few of them. Brad Smith, the kid who sat across from me in math who laughed at all my jokes. His sister Jennifer. Some kids who were playing basketball. Jesus Christ.  
  
I'm numb. I pick up the flag at my feet and tie it around my neck like a cape, although, I'm not really sure why. It's huge; I can drape it over myself like Dracula. Anyway, I step over the debris and laying a few feet from me is Lizzie. I run over to her and kneel down beside her. She's breathing she's not bleeding she seems to be fine, almost peaceful. I leave her to her peace, giving her some time before waking up to this horror.  
  
Mangled flesh and bone are laid bare from where the basketball net fell on one of the gym teachers. I had him freshman year. I have to get out of here. I walk out of the gym into the hallway. It's even more chaotic out here. People are yelling and running. Kids are freaking out some crying in each other's arms. I even see a couple making love, both of them crying about it being their first and only chance. Occasionally a teacher walks by trying to maintain order but it's no use.  
  
My sister. She suddenly pops into my head. She's here in school. Where? English? I turn to the right and head for where I hope she is. I stop at the water fountain, pushing the button. Luckily water comes out. I sip it, it tastes bitter but my throat is dry. As I down the water the stream gets smaller and smaller until it shuts off entirely. Great. The water is gone. At least I got the last bit. Onward to my sister.  
  
"Help me!" a girl cries, as she lays curled up near some lockers. I don't know her but I stop anyway.  
  
"What's wrong?" I ask.  
  
"My- it's my- uh huh- leg," she stutters and sniffs out.  
  
"What happened hun?" I ask, kneeling next to her.  
  
"They all r-ran an-and I was trampled, and- and they kept stepping on me, and then I heard a snap and it wa-was my leg," she says.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Ka-Kandy," she says.  
  
"I'm Darien, Kandy. Can you move at all?"  
  
"A little."  
  
"Okay good uhhhm just a minute," I say looking around. I take off my sweatshirt and pull it until it rips at the wrist. I take it to a water fountain and push the button; it still works so I wet the strip of fabric. I bring it back to her and wrap it around the broken skin near her ankle.  
  
"Fhssss. Mmmmn." She bites her lip and moans a bit.  
  
"Clean the wound up a bit," I say. "Okay I want you to put your hand around my neck and I'm gonna see if we can get you to the nurse."  
  
She nods and I bring my head close to her, she grabs my shoulder and I hoist her up and we head for the nurses office, back near the gym. We pass the couple that was making love. They are now crying in each other's arms, cursing the terrorists. Was this terrorism? I haven't heard any police sirens or fire engines. That's odd. What the hell is going on?  
  
I forgot what I was doing for a moment. I stop in front of the nurse's office and push the door open, ignoring the "The Nurse is Out to Lunch" sign. I put Kandy down on one of the sterilized beds. The wax paper crinkles under the weight.  
  
"Nurse? Hello? Anyone?" Apparently anyone who was hurt had forgotten the school had a nurse. Maybe they needed something more than aspirin and a lollipop. I walk to the cabinet and go through the drawer. I find some hydrogen peroxide and some bandages.  
  
"Ahuh huh huh," Kandy is crying again.  
  
"Does it hurt bad?"  
  
"Oh huh not really. It's just my luck I guess. Terrorists attack the same day I get my period," she says.  
  
I can't help but smile. What a thing to say. Women. "At least we know your ovaries work," I say.  
  
"Gross," she says and half smiles.  
  
I bring the peroxide over and take the rag off her leg. "This is gonna sting," I say. She bites her lip and I pour the peroxide onto the wound.  
  
"Mmmn," she moans under her breath.  
  
After cleaning it up a bit I put the gauze on it and tape it up. "All better," I say, standing up. "You stay her for a little bit and rest. I'm gonna go see if my sister is okay," I tell her and turn for the door.  
  
"Wait," she says and sits up.  
  
"What is it?" I ask.  
  
She leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, tears in her eyes. "Thank you."  
  
Stupid disasters. Absolutely nothing. No sexual anything in that kiss. Helping people just gives you this warm feeling inside. It sucks.  
  
"Darien, what's your last name? In case I have to find you later," she asks.  
  
"Darien Scott," I say. "You?"  
  
"Kovalchic," she says.  
  
"Don't worry though. You won't need to find me, I'll be back. Promise," I say opening the door. "I just gotta find my sister." 


	4. INTERLUDE

EXCERPTS FROM 'SUPER PSYCHE: THE INNER WORKINGS OF A SUPER HERO MIND' by Dr. David Morris PhD  
  
. . . A sense of responsibility is placed upon a super being. Those with functioning consciences tend to become crime fighters. It is because of a Messianic Complex, when a person in a position of power uses his power for absolute good and wants to save the world, which this occurs. When super powered beings develop this complex they cease to be crime fighters and become Super Heroes.  
  
. . . "With great power comes great responsibility," as Stan Lee put it. As the world has learned, for the most part, super powers tend to bring out either the good or the bad in people.  
  
. . . Of this Aristotle had four conclusions: "The first is that in this life there are three things most to be shunned, viciousness (to which is opposed virtue), incontinence (to which is opposed continence), and bestial savagery (to which is opposed virtue's heroic and divine excellence). The second that that these two things, namely savagery and that lofty virtue of mind which renders men divine, rarely occur among mortals. But some men are conspicuously barbaric . . . . The third that virtue belongs neither to God nor to a beast, since in God there is no passion and nothing accidental, and morals and the virtues do not accrue to beasts. The forth is that in the following precepts he shall only strive to seek for and hunt out probability. By heroic and divine virtue (the opposites of bestiality), the Philosopher means that rare and admirable excellence most employed in the bridling of pleasure and concupiscence."  
  
. . . I am certain that super powers are the secret to becoming either the Divine or the Beast. Normal man is not capable of either extreme on his own . . . Trauma seems to be the trigger. Some kind of traumatic experience with a super powered being usually triggers the decision to be either beastly or divine. A person with super powers that survives a disaster will more than likely develop the Messianic Complex, and want to "save the world." 


	5. PART 05

"Hello?"  
  
"Darien . . ."  
  
"What's wrong Michelle?"  
  
"I don't think we should go out anymore."  
  
My eyes snap open. A Dream? Wait a minute . . . what happened? I was looking for my sister. I just left Kandy and then . . . Did I black out?  
  
The American flag is still draped over me. It seems like it should be a lot of weight on my shoulders, but it's not. It just rests there, covering my back. My thoughts are so odd. Why am I thinking like this?  
  
I'm near the English department. I was at the Nurse's office a minute ago. What the hell happened? I see a few kids in the hallway. I think my vision is fuzzy or something because they look brown. I rub my eyes and look at them again but they are still brown. I know they aren't black kids or anything, I recognize a few of them. They look almost . . . burnt? They keep screaming. What the hell is happening to them? Things seem brighter now. Why is that? My legs feel like Jell-O. But not Jell-O . . . they are shaking but they have this burning sensation. Like I just ran a mile nonstop. This is so weird. I feel weird. Have I blinked? My God. I haven't blinked in a few minutes. Can I blink?  
  
I try not to freak myself out. I've just got to find my sister and then we can go to the nurse's office and everything will be okay. I walk away from the burnt kids and the charred walls. I look into each classroom. They contain unspeakable horror. Each door has a window in it. Half were covered in blood and gore.  
  
I feel lightheaded. I try to close my eyes but I remember that I can't. Why did this happen? Okay. Focus.  
  
I'm being erratic but at least I can tell, so I know I have some control.  
  
What's going on? I keep thinking about girls that I am in love with. There are so many. Why are there so many? Love is supposed to be special. Dammit! Stop this! Focus. Find Caitlin. I've got to find my sister? Why? Before whatever hit, I was content with my family loving me and I loving them but now that I've survived I want to find her.  
  
Stop this! Stop thinking.  
  
I continue down the hallway over charred bodies and some how I'm not repulsed. None of this has really made me physically sick. I should have my head in a toilet somewhere but this stuff isn't bothering me. Why? Even when I was thinking about love it wasn't bothering me. I just don't want to think about it now. Why am I so calm about this?  
  
I have to continue down this hallway. I'm not sure why. Oh yeah. My sister. Caitlin. Have to find her.  
  
Is that her? No. There's a bloody torso where the ceiling collapsed on some kid. What about that girl there? No. That's Mandy Morrison. I've called her Snow White because of her pale skin and short black hair. She hasn't said a word in the four years I've been here. Dammit I've got to stop thinking like this. I keep digressing my thoughts. That is odd though. Mandy is smiling. But it's kinda creepy . . .  
  
I've come to the pool. The door windows are all cloudy, I can't see through the steam. I slowly push the door open.  
  
"Caitlin?" I say.  
  
I take back what I said before. I can't not be physically sick by this. I can taste my dinner surging up through my throat and I can feel the bile burning my gums. The smell is overwhelming. Victoria Burton. Crystal Crowley. Suzie Hironaki. Judy Cronin. They were on the girls swimming team. There was a big meet later today. They were just practicing. My god. It looks like minestrone. No. More like tomato soup, with the occasional potato. Blood and Chlorine. Some organs. Some hair. And their bathing suits are just floating. Why?  
  
"Dear God," I say.  
  
"Oh don't fret, Darien," says a voice. "It doesn't hurt."  
  
I'm insane. It's official. No doubt.  
  
"It's okay Darien. It's me Judy," says the voice.  
  
"Judy? What's going on?" I ask.  
  
"I survived. There was no pain," says the voice.  
  
"How? Where are you?" I ask.  
  
"In the water," says Judy.  
  
"Judy, you're dead. I'm just imagining this," I say out loud to myself.  
  
"Darien. I'm alive. I can feel the others in here too. I'm afraid it was rather painful for them. They are swimming around in my head," says the voice.  
  
"No. You're dead!"  
  
I'm hit with it. The blood and pool water splashes up and hits me in the face. It's in my nose and I can taste it on my lips. I have never tasted death before and I don't like it.  
  
"Dammit Darien. Snap out of it!" Something is happening here!" says the voice. "Can't you tell? I mean haven't you seen your eyes?"  
  
"What about my eyes?" I ask.  
  
"Look," says the voice as I look down at my red reflection. My eyes are white. And not just a plain white. They glow. Almost bright but not like the sun or a light bulb. It doesn't hurt to look into the light.  
  
"What's happening?"  
  
"Everything is changing, Darien. Nothing is the same." 


End file.
